


Whispered Words of Sweet Nothing At All

by Powrhug



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powrhug/pseuds/Powrhug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kono deals with taking a life for the first time the only way she knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispered Words of Sweet Nothing At All

Kono likes burning votive candles, always lighting two at a time. One sweet, the other more exotic, creating her own unique fragrance.

She burns them early in the morning as she gets ready for work and the scent lingers on her throughout the day. Danny mentioned it once, the first time she did it, so now she does it for him even though he doesn't know and hasn't mentioned it since.

She thinks he's beautiful, and she knows he wouldn't like the description, but it's true. His eyes, his mouth, his smile, his body. She sometimes lists the ways she loves him when she’s stressed out from a case, or trying to drown out Chin when he’s lecturing her on something she finds ridiculous or unnecessary.

The first time she kills someone Danny's there. He doesn't say much for once, just takes the gun gently from her hands and then makes sure she's not alone. She can feel the warmth of his hand on her elbow, guiding her to a chair. The feel of his breath on her face as he leans in to whisper words of comfort and understanding. The length of his thigh against her own as they then sit in near silence, waiting for what she's not sure.

She wonders if it's weird or wrong that she's sitting there thinking of him as she stares at the body, but it's better than the alternative, better than nothing at all or too much, so she lets herself ride a slow wave of heat and lust and longing, knowing he won't know. They won't know. No one. Will know.

She wills herself to be fine.

It’s easier because he’s there. He's wonderful and he's Danny. And that's enough. The nearness of him is enough. For now.

Her body is shaking. She doesn’t realize it that until he says something about it, pressing her to him with a half hug. Professional. Yet warm. And she's okay with that. She's willing to take just that. Because it's real and honest and something.

She can hear the concern in his voice.

In her mind it's more. More than just him being him. More than him being a concerned colleague and friend. And she knows it’s wishful thinking when she feels his arm getting tighter, squeezing just a little. More intimate.

But when he wraps his hand softly, firmly around hers, she knows it's real because she can see it play out in front of her, and his thumb makes slow circles on her skin, making her feel slightly dizzy even as she can’t tear her eyes away from the small motion, simple action. She sways just a little and he thinks it's shock. They all do. And maybe it is, but she thinks it's not. Because she's felt this way before when they weren't sitting two foot away from a dead body.

She laughs at that, low and quiet, and she lets her eyes slide up to his in a kind of guilt. But she can tell he thinks that's normal as well, and he says something about having spent too many years around cops and victims. He says he knows there's no real way someone should react to something like this. He says it’s okay to feel the way she’s feeling. Like it’s the right answer to the right question.

She feels the louder laughing hysteria rise and does her best to keep it in, keep it down, keep it to herself, but it's a losing battle.

He pulls her to him and up looking less alarmed than he probably should, and he walks her quickly out the door, waving off Steve and Chin and various nameless faceless others as he tells them all he's driving her home damn it and they can talk to her in the morning.

Before she knows it, they've pulled up in front her house and she can't remember much about the ride other than the reassuring warmth of his hand on her knee when he didn't need it to drive, and sometimes even when he probably did.

She spent the majority of the trip staring out into the passing night with flashes of before threatening to emerge, so she fought to focus on him instead. Danny. And everything about him that she loved. A practiced, perfected list.

She ran it over in her head, playing it on repeat to drive away the look on the perp’s face as the life faded from him.

He's a great Dad. His eyes crinkle when he laughs. He taught her how to play good cop bad cop. He makes great meatballs. He loves football as much as she does. He has beautiful hands. He makes her feel.

She eventually abandons the list and repeatedly says Danny's name out loud to negate the shot vibrating in her head. Softly though, to herself. Just loud enough and nothing more.

She keeps staring out the window even as they sit, stopped. Until he calls her name quietly, his hand tentatively touching and turning her face.

She only lets her eyes briefly meet his own as she whispers, "thank you," even though he won't know what for. Not really.

He merely nods, a sad smile on his face that she wishes looked more like love and less like caring.

And she says as she exits the car that she'll be okay. Really. She'll be fine. He doesn’t need to see her to her door.

He believes her, like she knew he would. But she can still feel him watching her back as she walks to her door and she knows he’ll stay there until she closes it, even give her time to turn the locks before driving away.

She moves to her bedroom without turning on the lights, pulling out multiple votives to light instead. She strips off blood soaked clothes by candlelight and lets vanilla and sage and cinnamon wash over her. When she’s finally fully nude she looks at herself. Bruises have already started to form and some of the blood has made its way through to her skin.

She tries to imagine that the bruises were put there by him. She doesn’t mind rough sex and she imagines he wouldn’t mind either. Because with him it’d be about love.

But as her eyes trail slowly up to finally meet her own gaze, she can no longer pretend. Can no longer make the night about her furtive, probably futile, love of Danny.

Because Danny’s not there, and their love lays scattered around her in unspoken whispers, and all she’s left with is the reality of that night.

A man’s no longer living because of her.

She lets herself cry.

 

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal 2/20/11


End file.
